


mysterious harmony

by xjooheonx (jooheon)



Category: Monsta X (Band), SHINee
Genre: Literally everything is the same except Shownu is the world's sexiest back dancer AU, M/M, Shownu is a backup dancer AU, Shownu never got picked up by Starship AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 15:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18968368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooheon/pseuds/xjooheonx
Summary: Hyunwoo dances backup on Taemin's third solo.(backdancer!shownu au)





	mysterious harmony

**Author's Note:**

> The me who swore off all kpop fic forevermore was obviously a liar and a fool. I can't and won't let go of showtaem!! This was born of a) Shownu's time as Lee Hyori's backdancer, and b) Shownu's fanboyish interactions with Taemin/cover of Move. I don't care if not even a single other person ships this, I will set sail solo if I must!
> 
> title from Taemin's song Into the Rhythm.

"Good work today everyone," Taemin says, clasping his hands together and bowing, a fluid and effortless bend at the waist. "Sorry we ran late again. Please get home safe." Then, as an afterthought, "Hyunwoo, could I talk to you for a second before you go?"

"Yes," Hyunwoo says abruptly, probably a little too eagerly.

Taemin smiles and goes to the back of the studio, folds his legs underneath himself and drops to the floor cross-legged. Feeling oafish and awkward, Hyunwoo gets down to join him. He brings his shirt up to dab at his face and neck, conscious of how sweaty he is. Taemin is sweating too, but _artfully_ somehow, beads of perspiration trickling gently down the planes of his pale face. Everything he does manages to be beautiful.

"So what's up?" Hyunwoo says, hopefully in a way that is cool and suave, rather than jittery and anxious. Taemin's looking at him consideringly.

"Are you okay with the choreography?" he asks.

"Yes," Hyunwoo says. It's an automatic response, but it's also true. When he'd made the cut as one of Taemin's backup dancers, he'd sworn to pour everything into it, to leave zero possibilities of fucking up. The choreography is challenging, but he's been practicing it on his own time and feels like he's got it down. The fact that Taemin is asking him this at all is introducing a sliver of doubt, though.

"Okay," Taemin says. "Well, I was talking to Koharu—" his co-choreographer "—and we both agreed it doesn't really suit you."

He must read the look of utter crestfallen despair on Hyunwoo's face, because then he hurriedly adds, "Not that you're not doing it well! I like the way you do it, actually. But as you know, you're our biggest male dancer, and this choreo's kind of more, I dunno. Delicate?"

"Oh," Hyunwoo says, feeling numb. So he'd spent all that time practicing for nothing. So the culmination of what he'd been working towards for the past four years was coming to a crashing, bitter end — all because he had the wrong body type. Of all the reasons he thought he might lose this gig, that was never one of them, so the pain rams into him hard and unexpected. He can feel his throat tightening. "I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Taemin says. "It's not your fault. Anyway, like I said, I think your dancing is really cool. It stands out from the other back dancers. Koharu and I were talking about changing the choreography and giving you a different part."

Hyunwoo freezes, tries to process that. Fails. "What?"

"Well, I know it means you would have to learn a bunch of new stuff from scratch," Taemin says, furrowing his eyebrows apologetically, "but we thought it could be cool. You know, the song's about running away from a relationship or whatever so you could be, like, the one chasing me. Symbolism." He grins, eyes folding into half-moons.

"Okay," Hyunwoo says. His mouth finds its way around the syllables at about the same speed his mind is wrapping around the concept, "So, what you're saying is, you want me to have a bigger part in the choreo?"

"Yeah," Taemin says. "You and I might have to stay late some days to work on it, but—"

"I'm in," Hyunwoo says. "I'll do it."

 

 

The first time he saw Taemin on TV, he was in high school. His friend was obsessed with Lee Hyori and insisted on watching all of her performances. So Hyunwoo was sprawled on his friend's couch, sucking on a melty popsicle in the humid summer heat, mindlessly watching a parade of singers he didn't care about on Music Bank until Lee Hyori came on and he could listen to his friend bellow and whoop as she shook her ass on the screen.

At the time, Hyunwoo didn't care about Shinee any more than the other artists. He wouldn't even remember their name. He watched their performance passively, thinking that they weren't too bad, and that the dance breakdown in the middle was alright, too. They just looked so young — the one in the center, with the fresh, round face and the shaggy bowlcut, couldn't possibly be older than he was, to the point that Hyunwoo thought, "Hell, it could be _me_ doing that."

Soon enough Lee Hyori appeared, wearing a skimpy French maid costume, which was sufficiently distracting to wipe all thoughts of boybands from his mind. But at the end of the show, when they announced Lee Hyori as the weekly winner, Shinee was standing right behind her, looking cheery and fresh-faced. And Hyunwoo once again had the fleeting thought that if kids his age could do it, why couldn't he?

At that time his interest in music was only just beginning to blossom. He knew he liked to dance but he didn't know that he _loved_ it; and he especially didn't know that someday he'd be standing on the same stage as Lee Hyori, letting her drag her hands over his chest through a black mesh top. At that time, he didn't care about Shinee, didn't think they'd leave any lasting impression on him — only they must have, because years later, when Taemin began his solo promotions and Hyunwoo found himself mesmerized at the sight of him, blonde and lithe and quicksilver, his mind kept going back to that skinny kid with the bowl cut, trying to reconcile the two images. Trying to figure out how that not-untalented but fairly regular-looking teenager had grown up into this ethereal, razor-sharp man.

At some point Hyunwoo gave up puzzling it over, and focused instead on keeping his ear to the ground for when a spot might open up on Taemin's team. Because the one thing he knew for sure was that Taemin radiated light like an open flame, and, simple-minded moth that he was, how could Hyunwoo resist?

 

 

"That was good," Taemin says, panting a little. He lifts up his baseball cap, runs his hands through his hair, and shoves it down again. "Once more?"

Hyunwoo nods, breathing hard. He grabs his water bottle and takes a long drink, wiping his mouth before finding the air to say, "Sure."

Their one-on-one practice is a grueling thing, but so rewarding. Taemin's a perfectionist, and holds himself and his team to a high standard. Being around him, Hyunwoo can't help but push himself harder to match that drive and that passion. He can feel himself evolving as the days to their first live stage tick down, which is scary and exhilarating because he's never felt so invested in a performance before. In theory, he's doing about the same thing he did with Hyori on _Bad Girls_ , but it feels incredibly different.

 _Set Me Free_ is Taemin's third solo venture. It's heavy in a way that his previous two releases weren't, pulsing with a dark sensuality. The lyrics describe a love story in its death throes, the battle between head and heart. Knowing it's already over but having to tear yourself away; you want them _that_ badly.

Hyunwoo features twice in the choreography: midway through the song from the line 'you've always known how best to hurt me' to 'the words are stuck behind my aching lips,' and again, from the last verse through to the end. 'I swear I won't look back. It's time you set me free.'

And _Bad Girls_ had been fun, it had been a blast, but at the end of the day it had been memorizing a routine and carrying out the steps. This dance with Taemin feels like more; like he's acting out a story, reaching deep inside for raw emotion and bringing it out on stage for the world to see. During their choreography they hardly even touch, but it feels leagues more intimate than Hyori's hands on his bare skin. Part of it is that he does so much exaggerated reaching for Taemin, stretching out his arms, arching his entire body towards him, pursuing him with every cell in his body, but part of it is the endless energy that Taemin brings to the dance. Like he's been waiting his whole life to give expression to this feeling, and distilled it into a three and a half minute song, not a single movement or expression wasted. The way he dances says, look at me, and up close, Hyunwoo finds it blinding.

Most of the choreographing process had been straightforward, like slotting jigsaw puzzle pieces neatly into place. Logical. Taemin breathed incredible life into his part, but the steps themselves were nothing revolutionary.

The tough part had been figuring out the ending. Taemin and Koharu had gone back and forth on it over the course of three days, mostly in rapid Japanese, with a lot of pointing in Hyunwoo's general direction that made him feel incredibly self-conscious. He couldn't help the sense of unease, that maybe they didn't like him for this after all, that he was doing something wrong, that it was his fault this was taking so long.

But it had come together eventually. The last verse is a flurry of tight, sharp moves, Hyunwoo's taller frame boxing in Taemin's slender one, their bodies mirroring each other, moving in sync but never touching: until the last line. 'It's time you set me free.' On 'time,' Hyunwoo grabs Taemin by the wrist. Taemin draws up his arm and dramatically throws it down, shaking Hyunwoo off on 'free.' As the outro plays, he takes three steps stage right and strikes a powerful pose, his back to Hyunwoo, but when the last note plays, he swivels his head for one final parting glance.

Koharu had rhapsodized excitedly about it once they'd finally nailed it down, and Taemin translated for Hyunwoo. "She likes that even though there's that line about not looking back, I look back anyway. It fits the mood of the song and makes the viewer doubt my honesty."

"That is cool," Hyunwoo agreed.

Koharu added something else, grinning slyly, and then Taemin rolled his eyes and shot something back containing one of the only Japanese words Hyunwoo knew: "baka." Stupid.

"What'd she say," Hyunwoo asked, feeling mildly anxious. It didn't help that Taemin's reply was,

"Nothing. She said absolutely nothing."

He tries not to let that moment bother him much. Anyway, that was a while ago. They finished initial rehearsals and shot the music video two weeks ago, and now they're just continuing to fine-tune the performance in preparation for the live stages. Hyunwoo had imagined that after they'd decided the choreography, Taemin wouldn't want to have these private rehearsals anymore. He was wrong. Not that he's complaining at all, though; the time the two of them spend together practicing late into the night has become the best part of his week. Tonight they've been going over and over the ending, Hyunwoo grasping and grasping at Taemin's fragile wrist, being shaken off again and again.

"This'll be the last for the night, I promise," Taemin tells him as they get back into position. "The trains stop running soon."

Hyunwoo doesn't take the train from here, and his last bus left an hour ago. But Taemin doesn't know that, so Hyunwoo just nods and says, "Okay." They go through it one more time. When Taemin says, "You can go ahead, don't miss your train," Hyunwoo goes. He takes a taxi home.

 

 

The first time Hyunwoo met Taemin face to face was four years ago in the cramped, ill-lit backstage halls of the SBS studio. Shinee happened to be on their way out of the dressing rooms at the same time as Hyori and her dancers, and so greetings bows and smiles were exchanged all around, Hyori's eyes crinkling up as she told Shinee regally yet still quite warmly that she had enjoyed their performance. And they had been very breathless and sincere in their praise of her. And then everyone had said goodnight and that had been the end of it.

So actually Hyunwoo didn't even really meet Taemin. They'd just existed in the same space for a few minutes, and Taemin had vaguely inclined his head in Hyunwoo's general direction without so much as looking at him. But that didn't stop Hyunwoo from staring at Taemin: the luster of his auburn hair and the curve of his lips, the elegant shape of him even in a baggy T-shirt and jeans. The poetry of his face, even pale and washed out and wiped free of makeup.

He shouldn't have been so starstruck. It wasn't as though he hadn't seen countless other celebrities up close like this too, and Taemin wasn't _so_ different from them, except that… he was, somehow. It wasn't just his looks, or his talent on stage, or the airy quiet quality of his voice as he said, "Good work today," it was all of it together, the strange irresistible package of Lee Taemin, that made Hyunwoo begin to think, maybe in not so many words, that he wanted to be close to him. That he wanted to chase after the flickering golden tail of this shooting star.

 

 

The music video and album drop to rave reviews. Hyunwoo had known it would do well, had said so from the beginning even when some on the crew had expressed doubt that the public was ready for it.

"It's not like anything I've made before," Taemin had told one media outlet. "But it's an honest expression of myself. I hope that my fans will enjoy the song and the album. As always, I'm grateful for their support."

Hyunwoo thinks about that interview sometimes. "An honest expression of myself." He thinks about it when the two of them are dancing, sweating, staring intensely into the studio mirror, breathing hard as the beat pulses throughout the room, through their bones. He thinks about it when he grabs Taemin's wrist at the end of the song, and Taemin shakes him off before looking back with longing in every line of his body. He thinks about it before he falls asleep some nights, about how open Taemin can be about certain things, and how despite that, he still feels completely unknowable.

Thirty-six hours out from when they're scheduled to tape for KBS, and it's the last time Hyunwoo and Taemin are practicing one-on-one. There's an unspoken pressure now, to live up to the expectations of the millions who've watched and praised the music video. They barely talk the whole session, and when either of them bothers to check the time, it's two-fifty am.

"Oops," Taemin says. He sets his phone back down. "I guess you won't make your train."

"No, it's alright," Hyunwoo says, winded, dripping with sweat. He lifts the bottom of his shirt to mop at his damp forehead, jaw, neck. "I'll catch a cab home."

"Sorry," Taemin says, picking his phone up again to fiddle with it busily.

"It's not a big deal."

"Okay," Taemin says, "then, can I treat you to a meal? I never really said thank you for doing all this extra practice with me."

"Y-you don't have to," Hyunwoo says.

"Is that a no?" Taemin says, looking up at him with those big, unreadable eyes. "There's this Chinese-style place I like, they're open late."

"I," Hyunwoo starts. The last thing he wants is to say no - but the thought of saying yes is altogether more terrifying. He's saved making the decision by his stomach, which gives a loud rumble. Taemin laughs.

"Okay, get your stuff," he says. "I'll drive."

They chat a bit in the car, Hyunwoo focusing very hard on Taemin's words so as to not be bothered by what a carelessly casual driver he is. Luckily it's the middle of the night and no one's on the road. No one's in the restaurant when they arrive, either, and they take a booth along the wall and order quickly. The food comes steaming and mouthwatering and Hyunwoo digs in. They've demolished four out of five dishes before slowing down enough to talk again, and then Taemin asks,

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Hyunwoo nearly chokes on his lemon chicken. "Me? No." He finishes chewing and then thinks to return the question. "Do you?"

"Nope," Taemin says. "I'm not good at dating. Or so I've been told."

"Mm." Hyunwoo nods, as though he understands what that means. But really, there are a hundred ways to interpret it: Taemin could be a player, a cheater, or just inconsiderate, or _too_ considerate. Or, he could be the thing that Hyunwoo might also be and that he won't allow himself to hope for. But there just isn't any way to _tell_.

"I have been meaning to say," Taemin says, turning his chopsticks over in his hands and looking down at the table. "I appreciate you staying late with me all the time. I know it's hard."

"I wanted to," Hyunwoo says, and swallows. "I like working with you."

That's just about the understatement of the year. Taemin looks pleased by it, and opens his mouth to say something more, but then the door to the restaurant opens with the tinkle of a bell, and they both look up to see who's coming in. And as luck would have it —

"Oh," Taemin murmurs, recognition flashing on his face, "that's—"

"Whoa," the pair of young men say in unison. "Taemin-sunbaenim!"

"Hey," Taemin says, smiling politely with sauce on his chin. "GOT7, right?"

"Oh my god," the shorter one breathes, looking at Hyunwoo now. "Hyung, what are you doing here? Wait, what the hell? Long time no see!"

Hyunwoo feels something hot coil in his chest. He stands up to greet the two guys. "Jinyoung, Jaebum. Hey."

They hug — and not in the perfunctory bro-hug way, they _really_ hug, Jinyoung squeezing Hyunwoo around the middle until Jaebum mutters, "Hop off, let me at the big guy," and does the exact same thing, holding tight until Hyunwoo gently extracts himself.

"You look good, hyung," Jinyoung says.

"You both do, too," Hyunwoo says. He hasn't seen them in years now, not since shortly after they debuted. Jinyoung has even more of a polished handsomeness now, and Jaebum looks sleek and cool.

"You guys are friends?" Taemin says, watching bemused from the sidelines.

"Yeah," Hyunwoo says. "We were trainees together."

"I've missed you," Jinyoung says wistfully. "There's so much we have to catch up on."

"Do you guys wanna sit with us, then?" Taemin offers.

Hyunwoo almost tries to stop them, because his conversation with Taemin had been winding into an interesting, if scary, place, but Jinyoung and Jaebum sit down immediately, and they spend the next hour chatting and reminiscing and asking Hyunwoo about his dance career. Taemin mostly listens, picking at the food and sipping his ginger ale.

Talking to them is nice, because he _had_ missed them and he _does_ have real affection for his old friends. But it's also a bit hard, because they've ended up in such different places in life, and Hyunwoo can't relate to most of the stories they tell. He can feel how hard they're trying not to take pity on him. They leave first, after exchanging numbers and promising to call him soon, but Hyunwoo's been through this routine before, and knows better than to expect anything to come of it.

After they've gone, when he and Taemin go to pay the bill, Taemin says a bit out of nowhere, "I didn't know you had trained under JYP."

"Ah," Hyunwoo says, shrugging uncomfortably. "Yeah. Years ago, so."

Taemin doesn't ask how it ended, doesn't really need to. It's a common enough thing. Lots of kids dream of being idols, but the harsh reality of the entertainment industry whittles that number down until only the supremely dedicated few remain. Taemin's gone through the same thing, been churned through the same machine, only he made it through to the end, a polished product, instead of being chucked out halfway through.

Hyunwoo's not bitter about it, really. He likes his job. And if he _had_ debuted with Jaebum and the others, he would have never been able to dance with Taemin like this. So there's that.

"You don't talk about yourself very much," Taemin observes, taking his credit card back from the lady working the till. "You're kind of weird, Hyunwoo."

"Am I?" He's been called weird before, but it stings coming from Taemin. Then he looks up and sees that Taemin is giggling, eyes bright and unreserved.

"Yeah. I like it, though," Taemin says. "I might be weird, too."

Something light blooms in Hyunwoo's chest. He smiles back. "I guess we go okay together, then."

 

 

The concept for Taemin's outfits this comeback is beyond Hyunwoo's comprehension.

"Apparently it's subliminally sadomasochistic but like, in a deconstructed way," Taemin had said a while ago, rolling his eyes to telegraph how little he cared for that explanation. Hyunwoo hadn't really understood it and hadn't thought too deeply on it.

Now, he's sort of wishing he had, just so he could have mentally prepared himself for sharing a stage with Taemin dressed like this. A long sleeved crop top of thin white cotton bares a pale expanse of slender, muscled abdomen, and black jeans, artistically ripped from thigh to knee, hug those long legs form-fittingly. His wrists and throat are encircled in tight black studded leather, and thin silver hoops hang from his ears and plush lower lip. His hair, dyed ash-gray, hangs in tousled wisps around his face, over eyes ringed with black eyeliner and gold glitter. Taemin is sinful, walking perfection. Hyunwoo's own outfit is uncomplicated and comfortable, a dark vest open down the front and simple black pants, but it still feels restrictive, choking, whenever he looks at Taemin.

As they wait for the stage to be prepared, Koharu comes over to Hyunwoo. Her hair is slicked to the side, her lips painted a bright crimson. She also has solo sections in the choreo with Taemin, and Hyunwoo wonders how often the two of them practiced one-on-one.

"Hyunwoo-san," she says, brightly. She points to his abs, which the makeup team have carefully highlighted with some kind of oil, and does a double thumbs up. "Very sexy!"

"Thanks," Hyunwoo mumbles.

Koharu doesn't really speak Korean, but the random words that she knows, she uses often and with aplomb. "Hyunwoo-san," she says, patting him on the back and smiling broadly. "You can do it! Hwaiting!"

Taemin comes and finds him, too, just before they're called on to the stage. "How are you feeling?" he asks. "Nervous?"

"Yes, but I feel good," Hyunwoo says. He keeps his eyes trained on Taemin's, careful not to wander. "I feel ready."

Taemin's lips twitch. The silver ring wobbles. "Great. Let's do our best."

"Yeah," Hyunwoo echoes. "Let's do our best."

He follows Taemin's slender silhouette up the flimsy wooden stairs to the stage, and takes his position kneeling down stage right. When the director counts them down, Hyunwoo exhales and tries to focus his nerves away, down his arms and out through his fingertips. It almost works, and he rises fluidly when the music starts, joining the other dancers in formation. But he can feel that he isn't bringing it all — that he's stiffer than he ever was in rehearsals. It's the lights and the cameras and the dozens of crew and the hundreds of chanting fans in the audience, he knows, but he can't help it; he's self-conscious.

That is, until the first chorus ends and it's time for his solo. When he finds the space beside Taemin and they launch into the familiar moves, it's like they're back in rehearsal again. The blinking red recording light on the camera is no more obtrusive than the mirror on the studio wall, and Hyunwoo lets the music flow through his veins like fire as he dances, side by side with Taemin, reaching out but never taking hold, Hyunwoo steadfast and Taemin mercurial. Taemin's absorbed in the song, chest popping and hips swaying melodically, eyes full and dark and he's _looking_ at Hyunwoo so much as he sings.

 _An honest expression of myself_ , Hyunwoo thinks. He reaches for Taemin like it's instinct, and Taemin, following the choreography, spins deftly away.

Hyunwoo's never tried putting a name to the feeling he gets watching Taemin dance, or dancing with Taemin, or just being around him, talking to him, being smiled at by him. It always felt too daunting, a task he was sure to butcher somehow, because he's too clumsy with words to be trusted with a feeling so precious.

But he isn't clumsy with his body. And maybe saying it through dance would do just as well — would be better, even, because Taemin is strange and softspoken and moves like dance is his first language anyway.

They put on the best performance Hyunwoo's ever known. The energy in the room is electric, and Taemin, the dancers, the fans, all seem to breathe as one. The song seems to stretch on and on, yet all too quickly it reaches the final verse, and then the last line.

"It's time you set me free," Taemin sings. Hyunwoo grabs him by the wrist, feels skin damp with sweat and a leather bracelet studded with cool metal. Taemin raises his arm and Hyunwoo is meant to loosen his grip, but he tightens it. When Taemin's arm comes down again, Hyunwoo doesn't let go. The song trails off and Taemin is staring blankly at Hyunwoo, up close and out of breath, and Hyunwoo stares helplessly back. Suddenly he's afraid that he was completely on the wrong track, that Taemin will be angry with him, that he's messed everything up, and he steels himself for the worst.

But then Taemin's eyes go soft, and his face cracks into a smile, and Hyunwoo's heart sings.

"I _said_ , set me free," Taemin says jokingly, and Hyunwoo gives a shaky laugh.

"I can't," he replies, his voice low and quiet.

He's ruined the take, and they're going to have to start again from the top and do the whole song again, and the crew are going to be confused and pissed off and the fans are going to roast him online and Koharu is going to have a field day, but Taemin is beaming at him with their hands still joined, and Hyunwoo finds that actually, nothing else matters.


End file.
